


there's only us, there's only this, forget regret (or life is yours to miss)

by fortunatedaughter



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, next door neighbours au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-24 10:20:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8368627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortunatedaughter/pseuds/fortunatedaughter
Summary: “So that’s Mike.” Evelyn drawls from their own apartment door, yawning again. “See you’ve met now.”“Yup. We have. And his ass is grass.” Ginny mutters darkly.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> title from no day but today (finale b) off the rent soundtrack

It starts, as most things do, at 1am. 

(Later on, Ginny will look back and realise how much of their story was like something straight out of a fucking rom-com.)

Ginny Baker has always been a night owl, even more so since she applied for grad school and spends many a nights up writing papers that, honestly, cause her a pain like no other. (Not even her shoulder surgery hurt as much as writing a thesis draft on the status of rehabilitation processes post invasive surgery.)

As such, it makes sense that she’s up at 1am, tapping away at her laptop as she attempts to formulate sentences that make sense. What doesn’t make sense is the abrubt moan through her wall right after she’s written about blood issues in tendon tissue.

Ginny glances up and frowns. Blip wasn’t staying over tonight, usually since Evelyn always gave her a heads up when he did. Her lips pursed. She must have been hearing things. Turning back to her laptop, Ginny inhaled and attempted to dive back in when she heard it.

That moan sounds again, followed by a rich, deep laugh throaty laugh. Ginny glances up, frowning again, ignoring the flare of heat southwards at the sound. She reaches for her iPod and turns her music up a little louder — INXS because her father raised her right and the only thing that could ever get her to sleep or focus as a kid was rock and roll — hoping to counteract the moan that sounds through her now apparently thin walls.

It doesn’t help. Like at all. If anything, the couple decide to get a whole lot _louder._

“Hey!” She bangs her fist against her wall. “Asshole! Keep it the fuck down!”

She should have known that wouldn’t work. If anything the couple gets louder, trying to prove a point.

With a growl, Ginny launches herself from her messy bed and nearly tripping over her laptop charger and a pair of boots, she falls into the living room, heading for the front door.

“What’s going on?” Evelyn mutters, rubbing her eyes as she was seemingly woken from sleep. (Which says a lot. The girl could sleep through a damn war.)

“Nothing. Just gotta go kill our neighbor.” Ginny glares and flings their front door open, walking the three to five steps to the asshole’s apartment. Banging on the door, Ginny Baker paints a fearless picture. Curls are falling from the half hearted bun she threw her hair up into earlier and she’s not even wearing pants, just a large over-sized Padres shirt.

The door flies open and Ginny gets her first look at the offending party. And whoo-boy. It’s a look and a half, what with his bare chest on display and his jeans slung low on his hips — she can actually see the hint of the V of his hipbones and the urge to reach over and bite at them… 

His glistening lips suggest he was just going down on his friend of choice, and look. Ginny’s woman enough to admit the sight the man paints is tempting. Shirtless, he’s got arms that scream their perfect for picking a woman up and pinning her against a wall — the eyes, too, dark and probing and all knowing. Any other reality, Ginny wouldn’t hesitate to climb that like a tree but this reality? She’s got a paper due in an hour she put off because Evelyn brought home enough tequila to satisfy Mexico for a year and, well, she spent the week hungover. Not a whole lot of time to write a paper.

“You mind?” She raises an eyebrow.

He glances at her, amused — as if he’s enthralled with the fact she actually went and knocked on his door. “Mind what?”

Ginny glares. “Keeping it down.”

He takes a glance at the clock hanging on the side wall. “It’s 1AM. On a Friday night. I think that means noise is sort of fair game.”

“Mike!” The woman’s voice whines, breathy and impatient.

 _Mike_ , it seems, glances over his shoulder at the still faceless woman before he turns, smirking back at Ginny. “Duty calls. See ya round neighbor.”

He closes the door in her face and Ginny is left standing there, staring at his door and so utterly disbelieving that that exchange just happened. (See: rom-com.)

“So that’s Mike.” Evelyn drawls from their own apartment door, yawning again. “See you’ve met now.”

“Yup. We have. And his ass is grass.” Ginny mutters darkly. 

* * *

 

The next two days pass by in a blur and Ginny almost manages to forget the incident that occurred at 1AM. Almost, being the key-word.

Slamming the apartment door closed on Monday, coffee in hand, Ginny glances up and suddenly wishes she hadn’t. Or hadn’t even gotten out of bed, - least that way she could have avoiding a confrontation with Mike the next door neighbour.

“Oh. It’s you.”

The charming grin on his face would have, at any other time, probably done quite a way to dropping her panties. Now, however, she just wants to hit him with her lucky baseball bat. “One and only.”

His eyes drink in her figure, darting from the top of her head to the tip of her toes. (Ginny feels exposed, in a way she hasn’t felt since Tommy.) “I don’t think I caught your name when you came knocking on my door on Friday.” Mike drawls.

Ginny takes a point sip of her coffee. “That’s right, you didn’t.”

“Think I could get it now?”

“No.”

“No.” He replies, tone colouring with disbelief.

She nodded once. “No.”

“No?”

“You can say it another dozen times, the meanin’ ain’t gonna change.” Ginny rolled her eyes, pulling her phone out as it chimed with a text from Trevor.

Drinks tonight? Her teeth chewed on her bottom lip, contemplating the fallout of such a thing.

“Can I –“ Mike started – but for what, Ginny didn’t know. She was still pissed at the fact she had done a less than stellar paper on Friday night because Mike the Neighbour was so utterly busy going down on his lady friend.

(It didn’t help she hadn’t been laid in months, either.)

“I got class.” Ginny didn’t even bother to flash him a smile as she kicked off the wall, brushing past her next-door neighbour. (She was afraid of what it might mean if she did.)

* * *

 Classes go by in a blur. She tunes out during health science practices, mind still dwelling over the incident on Friday and thus, the incident this morning and she finds herself getting more and more annoyed as time passes. Who the fuck gave him the right, too look like that and be an asshole in equal measure?

Wasn’t fair, that was for sure.

“You okay?” Amelia asks her as she’s own her way out of her elective political science class. “Seemed pretty frowny in the back row there.”

“Fine.” Ginny glowered. “Just planning the murder of my neighbour.”

“Alright,” The blonde grinned, amused before snorting. “Just call me when their dead so I can help you bury the body alright?”

* * *

 

(Mike later learns her name through Blip. – her of course, being the mystery woman that had the gall to interrupt him and Rachel in the wee hours of Friday morning, which, in all honesty, is an honour. He can’t say every woman he’s had the pleasure of encountering has had the balls and/or audacity to interrupt his sexcapades.

“Name’s Ginny. She’s roomin’ with Evelyn.”

An appreciative look overcomes his face – thinking of that perfect, pear shaped ass the mystery neighbour had. “Huh.”

Blip glances at Mike. “Oh no – no, Lawson, I know that look. _Don’t_ go there.”

“What look?” He replied, affronted. “Go where?”

“She’s 23. She’s going places. She’s gonna get her doctorate and then she’s gonna be one of those people who runs a damn hospital in Switzerland at the front of medicine.”

He nodded slowly. “So she’s a doctor.”

“Nah. PT.” Blip quipped, attempting to flag down the bartender.

“Huh.”

“I mean it, Lawson.” Blip huffed. “Age and job aside – don’t fuck with her, not like you fuck with your other girls.”)

* * *

 “Oh you’ve gotta be fucking shitting me.” Ginny huffs, coming to stop as she notices an all too familiar profile at the bar. Evelyn merely snorts behind her.

(There goes her peaceful evening of getting utterly wasted.)

Mike turns from leaning against the bar, recognising the voice. “Princess.” He grinned brightly.

“This isn’t going to be a thing, is it?” She huffed, shifting into the small space, fingertips tapping against the carved up bar. “You and me, meeting like this…”

“Meeting like what?” One eyebrow raised in a teasing challenge.

Ginny glowered, not even noticing the squeeze that Evelyn gave her arm before she disappeared off in search of Blip. (That really should have been her first clue – so far gone in her conversations with Mike that the rest of the world faded to background noise…) “This is my bar.”

“Don’t see your name here.” He glanced around.

“Oh really?” Ginny reaches across him, pressing her fingertip into a carving right near his elbow.

“Huh. Lookie there – Ginny Baker’s name, in the flesh.”

She glances up wildly, suddenly realising that he knows now – knows her name despite the fact she hadn’t wanted him to know that, had refused to give it to him this morning.

“Fuck.”

“Nice name. Suits you.” He drawls before disappearing into the crowd and Ginny is left at the bar, fingertip pressing into her carved name, colour blooming in her cheeks.

(She can see it so clearly. Hair spilled out over his pillow, his head between her thighs, beared scraping against her sensitive and overheated skin; she can hear her name in her head, can hear how it’d sound, all warm with desire and want as he went down on her.)

“Oh fuck.” Ginny curses, taking a healthy swig of her beer. “I’m so screwed.”

 _And not in the good way_ , her mind adds unhelpfully.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pacing yourself is a concept i'm unfamiliar with, legit. anyway ---
> 
> the songs i imagined for this chapter are as follows!  
>  \- i'm not over by carolina liar; the bar/beer pong scene.  
>  \- should i stay or should i go by jessica mauboy; the ass scene.  
>  \- guys my age by hey violet; the diner scene.

“So did you do it?” Evelyn demands, bursting into the living room. Having just gotten off work – the young woman was still in her waitress outfit but, Ginny muses, that doesn’t make Evelyn any less fearless.

Ginny glances at Evelyn, before turning her gaze back to the TV. “Do what?”

“Don’t play coy with me missy.” She scowled. “Did you apply for the fellowship?”

“Yes.” She took a pointed sip of her beer.

“And?”

Jesus, it was like the other girl was more excited than she was – and Evelyn hadn’t even been the one to freakin’ apply.

“And I don’t hear back for another month or so. Maybe longer.” Ginny shrugged. “It’s Johns Hopkins, Evelyn, they get a lot of applicants.”

“Yeah, but – you’re the best. Prime applicant.” Her eyebrows raised, levelling Ginny with a look.

She snorted. “Sure.”

“Do I need to list your achivements right now?”

Opening her mouth to quip some sarcastic comment, Ginny was saved from replying by a knock on the door and Evelyn, ever the supreme hostess whisked herself off to answer the door.

“Who is it?” Ginny yelled, eyes drawn back to the TV.

“One and only.” Mike quipped and Ginny near fell off the couch in shock.

“What the fuck.” She cursed, pushing herself up to glare at the silhouette of Mike.

His hand pressed against his heart, an over the top, wounded expression blooming on his face. “That anyway to greet a friend?”

“We aren’t friends.” She snarked before turning her gaze to Evelyn. “What’s he doing here?”

Evelyn, who had been lurking (or hiding) in the kitchen, popped her head around the corner. “Uh, we’re all going out tonight, remember?”

Ginny froze.

“Remember?” Evelyn questioned sharply.

“Course I remember!” Ginny hissed. (That was a lie. She didn’t remember. If anything, she thought it was going to be the next week and by that point, she was going to have at least near double the amount of her thesis paper done, so she wouldn’t feel bad by going out and getting utterly shitfaced.

“Liar.” She accused. “You planned to stay in drinking beer again and re-writing your thesis paper didn’t you?”

Ginny shrugged, glancing back at ESPN as she took another healthy swig of her beer.

Evelyn finally emerged from the kitchen, crossing her arms over her chest as she glared down at Ginny lounging on the couch. “Okay,well, that’s not happening.”

“Evelyn, come on –“

“It’s game night at the bar, rookie, you really gonna miss out on that?” Mike piped up and Ginny paused, glancing away from Evelyn and at Mike. What game was he trying to pull? She mused to herself. They hated each other, right?

(She ignores the voice in her head that says the two of them would have some amazing hate sex against his wall and instead, focuses on the annoyance bubbling up from her stomach. Yes, annoyance she could deal with, handle even. The sexual attraction that was near consuming and after only one encounter? Ginny didn’t have time for that. She had shit to do.)

“First Princess and now rookie?” She glared, shifting on the couch to sit up. “What did your girlfriend get you a nicknames book or something?”

He’s saved from answering when the front door opens and really, it can only be one person. (Ginny refused to give her brother a key, stating he didn’t need one since he was rarely around anyway and what use was it when he lived in Philly and she lived in San Diego? Then of course, none of her family was ever talking to her long enough for a key.)

“Oh good!” Blip grinned, looping an arm around Evelyn’s waist as he found the three all in the living room. “We’re all here. Shall we?”

“Wait – Gin’s not dressed.” Evelyn piped up and Ginny winced. – so, so close.

“I am too!” She retorted, gesturing at her clothes. Clothes being, of course, large oversized Padres shirt that really could have doubled as a short dress. She probably had worn it as a dress to the corner store once or twice, now that she thought about it.

Evelyn glared.

“Alright, fine. I’ll go change.” Ginny huffed, throwing herself up off the couch, her beer bottle setting down on the table.

(Mike exhaled roughly – his eyes roaming hungrily over the expanse of leg that Ginny had on display under her shirt – not to mention the hint of ass he saw peeking out of the lace underwear she was wearing. He’s so very thankful neither Evelyn nor Blip noticed his looking. Lord knew what they’d do if they did.)

* * *

 

The trio arrives at the bar an hour later, right as tonight’s band was in full swing of their set. They would have been there earlier but Ginny had taken the longest time to change given the messy state of her room.

(“I’m a _grad student_ , Evelyn not a goddamn **housewife** with three different vacuum cleaners!”)

Ginny disappeared near soon as they all arrived, loosing herself in the crowd, seemingly knowing everyone who came across her path while Evelyn, Blip and Mike posted up at the bar, drinks in hand.

“How-“ Mike questioned, watching as Ginny was roped into a game of beer pong with a handful of students that looked like they were all old friends.

“Grad student.” Evelyn says simply, not even bothering to glance over. “She knows everyone from 3am library sessions. Fuckin’ insane.”

A thoughtful look comes over Mike’s face as he takes in the movements of the beer pong game. He was good at that, from time to time. It had been a good handful of years since he’d played, of course, but how hard could it really be?

( _Very hard_ , his drunk college self adds unhelpfully, but he shoves that thought down with the rest of them.)

“I wouldn’t go against her Mike.” She pipes up, beer now in hand.

“Why not?” He frowned.

“Cause she was practically raised in bars like these?” She shrugged. “When her Mom took off, Will raised her. He worked bar shifts while she sat in the offices and did her math homework. Could play beer pong with the best of them by the time she graduated high school.”

“Huh.” That – that he hadn’t been expecting. His perception of Ginny Baker had been at first, annoying girl with more balls than he gave her credit for. (Who knocks on someone’s door at 1AM on a Friday to tell them to stop having loud sex?) But it was slowly changing… now… now she was a young woman with a crazy work ethic, who had more questions about her than answers.

(He hates how he wants to figure those questions out; learn the truth about the mystery woman that is his next door neighbour. He hates how with every new thing he learns about her, she’s kinda blowing him away.)

“You’re gonna play her, aren’t you?” Blip sighed wearily. (He knew that look in Mike’s eyes. Knew it far too well since it was the thing responsible for some of the gaps in his memory from nights out.)

Mike grins and downs beer, setting the empty bottle on the bartop. “Totally.”

“Make good choices!” Evelyn calls out after him, shaking her head as she leans back into Blip. “They’re fucked aren’t they?” She sighed.

“Totally.” Blip snorted.

* * *

 

When Ginny finally notices that it’s Mike next in line to play her at beer pong, her first reaction is to find some kind of blunt instrument and take it to his head. It’s not like she dislikes him or anything – she’s just finding his annoying traits of his personality come to the fore front whenever the two of them are in contact. (She doesn’t mention that it’s also fucking _fun_. It’s been too long since she’s been around anyone who called her on her bullshit, let alone liked said bullshit or even matched it. It’s addicting, being around him and sure, it’s probably masochistic, but. She can’t resist him.)

“Think you can take me, old man?” Ginny taunts, grinning as she twirls the tiny ping pong ball in her fingertips.

Mike steps up to the table, grinning that charming panty dropping grin of his – the grin Ginny feels all the way down to her toes. “Easily.”

“In your dreams.” She retorted.

He waggled his eyebrows, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. “Every damn night, Baker.”

Ginny inhales sharply, mind’s eye flooding with the images of what he promises with just a handful of words. (It’s fun being around someone who can take her bullshit and also fire it back, but it’s also so very dangerous. Because the last person who could take it, – looking at you Tommy Miller – quite nearly drove her fucking nuts; to the point where she was exhausted at the end of every interaction with him. Amelia wasn’t kidding about that body comment, she mused.)

Shaking her head free of the memories in her head, Ginny clears her throat and launches the ball, landing one in his cup right off the bat. Mike nods appreciatively before he downs the cold beer, (Thank fuck the Black Cat refused to serve anything warm), only to throw the ball right into one of her own cups.

Ginny glares.

It continues like this for a near twenty minutes – when Ginny misses two shots in a row, the crowd around them quiets, because was it about to happen? Was reigning queen Ginny Baker about to be de-throned by newcomer Mike Lawson? (She silences those critics by sinking two of his cups in quick succession.)

It’s down to the final cup – they each have one cup left. As Ginny focuses her gaze on the lone cup left, Mike swears he even hears the band quiet down, enthralled with the game taking place.

The silence is too much however, at least for Mike who thrives off of noise. “Throw the damn ball, will ya! Some of us aren’t getting any younger!”

Ginny laughs, her eyes flicking up to shoot Mike a flirty gaze. “Isn’t that obvious?”

Before Mike can quip anything back, Ginny flicks her wrist just right, throwing the ball and watches with pleasure as the ball arcs and curves, directly landing in lone cup left on Mike’s side.

The crowd erupts in cheers.

“Ha! Yes!” Ginny yells, jumping and pumping her fist. (The Queen remains unchallenged.)

Mike downs his beer, shifting from his side of the table to Ginny’s. His hand comes to pat against her bicep as he ducks forward to her ear. “Good game, Baker.” He mutters and she can’t even fight the shiver that curls through her at the feel of his warm breath ghosting along the shell of her ear.

(It’d be so easy – to just tip her mouth up and press a kiss against the jut of his jaw. Work her lips up to his ear. Whisper to him; ask him to take her back to his place. It’d be so easy and she can see it in her mind’s eye, see how he’d swallow just so, see how his hand would curve around her hip, squeezing. She can feel it so intensely and that she wants it – wants it now.)

“Right.” Ginny chokes out, her eyes connecting with Mike’s.

(She can’t tell if the lust and desire in his hazel eyes is being imagined by her or really, actually there. She’s not sure she wants to find out which one it is, either.)

“Wanna double against the wonder twins over there?” His chin jerks at Blip and Evelyn.

“ _Obviously_.”

* * *

 

Two hours and two extra games of beer pong later, it’s safe to say that Ginny is drunk. Off the attention, sure, but more so the amount of free drinks the bar and other patrons have been buying/giving her since she beat Mike at beer pong.

“You really think you should be havin’ another right now?” He questions warily, watching as the bartender lines up two shots of tequila.

“Hey.” Ginny snorts, leaning against the bar, “If I’m giving up my chance to re-draft my thesis, I’m gonna make it count.”

“Sound logic.” He nodded once, taking a gulp of his beer.

And he would have left it at that left her alone or maybe pawned her off to Blip who would take care of her, get both Ginny and Evelyn home alright while Mike went home with a blonde or two. (Or maybe not, considering Ginny and Evelyn were plastered and loud sex through thin walls just seemed unfair.) He would have left it alone if the crowd hadn’t surged with the new band taking the stage, therefore plastering Ginny’s ass right against his crotch.

Mike inhales sharply. He can feel it – the soft, subtle curves of her perfect, pear shaped ass. He can feel that desire to run his hand over her ass flare to life, the desire to squeeze it, rest his hand in her jeans pocket, and bring her closer.

“Ginny.” He chokes out, glancing down at her – at her mouth, really, from this angle. (That doesn’t help matters. At all.)

“Hmm?” She hums, before throwing back one of the shots of tequila she had ordered.

“You’re drunk.”

( _And your ass is on my dick and goddamn, it’s a lot better than the dreams I had about your ass._ – But he doesn’t say that part out loud. She’s drunk, not deaf.)

“Oh totally.” Ginny snorted and she leant her head against Mike’s shoulder, curls spilling over his shirt.

Mike swallows again, allows himself to rest a hand against her hip. Which would be _fine_ – if her tank top _hadn’t_ ridden up slightly and his hand _wasn’t_ pressing against a hot strip of bronzed skin. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who’s willingly admitted that.”

She grins up at him, at his jaw. “Well you’ve never met a girl like me, old man.”

That, Mike thinks, is so very fucking true.

“Dance with me.” Ginny says after a moment.

“Ha, _no_.”

(Not even Ginny Baker with her perfect ass against his dick can get him to do that.)

“Come on.” She wiggles her ass against his front. Mike nearly chokes on his beer. (Maybe Ginny Baker with her perfect ass against his dick _could_ get him to do that.)

“I don’t dance.” He glowers.

Ginny huffed a breath, and turned around so her front was plastered to Mike’s front. Licking her bottom lip, she glanced up at him from under the lashes. “Come on, old man. I’ll make it worth your while.”

It’s on the tip of his tongue to agree – to say _fine, sure, let’s do it, let’s see what you think will make this worth my while,_ but he can’t. Blip’s words about not screwing with her, about the fact she’s going places and she’s gonna do things and Mike – Mike is stagnate. He’s been doing the same thing for the last 16 years and yeah, he’s good at it, great even and he likes what he’s doing. But – Ginny Baker is going to go places and do things, forge paths and blaze trails. What business does Mike have getting involved in that?

His mouth parts to say something, say anything, when he feels Blip’s hand clap against his shoulder and he jolts, startled out of his musings of Ginny’s ass and her future and his, well, lack of a future.

“Hey, Mike, I gotta get Evelyn home.” Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Evelyn giggling up a storm in the corner with a handful of other people, trading stories as if their old friends. Mike’s willing to bet they only met tonight. “Gonna let her crash at mine and then go back to her apartment tomorrow. Least that way I can hold her hair back if she’s sick.”

He nods, swallowing, feeling rather than seeing Ginny tuck her head under his chin, happy just to be close to him.

Blip merely looks on amused. “You got her?” His chin jerks at Ginny.

“Yeah.” Mike exhales roughly, his hand flexing against her hip. That warm sliver of skin is still there under his fingertips. “Yeah.”

“Sure you’re gonna be okay?” He raises an eyebrow.

A short bark of laughter. “Nope.”

“Good to know.” Blip nods and after gazing steadily at Mike for a moment, he turns and heads for his girlfriend, pulling her from the crowd and out the front door. As Mike watches them leave, he only hopes that he manages to make it out of the next hour or so, well – alive. And that Baker covers up the slivers of skin she has on display. (He doesn’t have much hope for that one.)

“Come on, Baker, let’s get you home.”

Ginny snorts, her head tipping back and exposing the smooth column of her throat. (He hates how he wants to bite a mark into it, mottle that pretty skin with his mark.) “I’m not sleeping with you.”

“Never said you were.” Mike throws back. “But I think you’re gonna want some food right about now?”

“I could go for a burger…” She trails off, eyeing him warily. (As if she distrusts him still, even after everything. Of course, everything is a handful of beer pong games and her ass against his dick, but. Still.)

He nods once. “I know a place.”

* * *

 

“So what’s your thing?” Ginny questions, distinctly more sober than before while slurping down on her chocolate malt milkshake. She’s always been picky about her burgers, even more so when it comes to post-drinking eating, but she’s happy to report that Mike Lawson hasn’t failed her.  (Not that she’s sure he ever would, but. It’s nice to have some reassurance, given the state of her life these days.)

Mike throws a French fry in his mouth, snorting. “My thing?”

“Yeah.” She shrugged, picking up an onion ring. “Everyone’s got a thing.”

“I don’t think my thing should be shared in polite company.” He drawled, that charming grin back in place. (Ginny swears the only reason she feels heat flare under her skin is because she broke up with Tommy and stopped reply to Trevor’s booty calls. Not because she’s actually attracted to Mike or anything.) “Thought I must say I never expected Ginny Baker to have a thing for public sex.”

Her head quirks to the side, a sigh rippling through her body. “Come on.”

“I don’t know.” He sighs, picking up his own shake. “I don’t think people should be reduced to just one ideal.”

She gets that, in a roundabout sort of way. When she was still playing, she did want that, just wanted to be known as Ginny Baker the ballplayer, not the woman on the team, not the little sister that needed protecting, not the hot piece of ass that everyone was secretly lusting after. But since her shoulder gave out… now she thinks being known for more than that… that’s what she wants.

“Wasn’t talking about ideals, old man, but good to know.”

Mike rolls his eyes. “I don’t know if I have a _thing_. Just a guy.” (A guy who spends half his time working as a sports journalist and being critical of 23 year olds with shitty batting averages who spend more time on their hair than they do thinking about double plays, but that’s beside the point.)

“What do you do then?” She questioned, throwing another onion ring in her mouth.

“Work. Sleep. Eat. Have sex.” He shrugged.

Ginny pursed her lips. “Not a Cross Fit guy?”

“Nah, just fuck a lot.” He quipped.

Ginny laughed softly, - both in humour and because she assumed, that was about all she was going to get out of the mystery that was Mike Lawson. She didn’t blame him for that; they barely knew each other, weren’t even friends in the traditional sense. For crying out loud, she was plotting his murder on Monday because she couldn’t stand him. And now look at them – eating burgers and chatting about life stories.

(Life was weird, Ginny mused.)

“Mom died when I was a kid.” Mike said after a moment and Ginny glanced over at him, surprised. “Dad was never really good at the parenting thing on his own. Older sister is basically the definition of lost girl. And I’m…”

“Surviving.” She added.

(God, they were more alike than she thought.)

“Yeah.” He breathed, a slight smile quirking the edges of his lips – like he had the exact same thought. They were more alike than first thought. “What about you?” He questioned.

Ginny chewed on her bottom lip, slurping more of her milkshake. “Dad died when I was a kid. Mom took off with her lover not long after that.” (They were still in contact, of course – but nothing would ever heal the bitterness Ginny felt towards her mother for choosing Kevin. Not even time.) “Older brother raised me. I was –“ She cut herself off abruptly.

“Was what?” He frowned softly.

(She wants to tell him – _I was going to play baseball. Go far. Maybe make it to the majors, even, but a shitty shoulder injury and a pink dress shot that reality in the foot, long before it ever had a chance to come to fruition._ Why she wants to tell Mike all of this, when she didn't even want to tell Tommy or Trevor - two guys she was actually involved - she doesn't know.)

“You want that life story you’re gonna have to reach a level nine friendship. At least.” Ginny winked.

Mike grinned, leaning forward so his elbows rested on the tiny table. “And what level am I at now?”

“Start of tonight, you didn’t even make the grade.” She drawled, leaning forward herself. “But after this burger? Solid two.”

“Good to know food is the way to your heart.”

* * *

 

The sight of her door seems to single the end of the evening. And what an evening it was, Ginny thinks to herself. Her mind is still muddled with the effects of all she drank tonight, but the burgers, onion rings and milkshakes she put away seem to have done wonders with soaking up the alcohol. Maybe she might make it out of this without a hangover.

“Thanks.” Ginny sighs, leaning a shoulder against her door. She ducks a hand down, tugging on her high-heel and pulling the shoe off. She does the same with her other foot and without the heels, she’s suddenly shorter than him – shorter than she has been all niht.

He shrugged. “No problem.”

“I mean it –“ She huffs, thinking he’s taking it far too lightly. Her memories are blurred at the moment, but one thing Ginny knows is that she’s not always pleasant to deal with drunk. (Nightmaringly annoying or ridiculously touchy feely. She has a feeling she’s going to regret either one when she wakes up in the morning.) “Pretty sure that the blonde was eyeing you at the bar all night and you choose to take care of a drunk girl instead whom, you barely know,”

“Ginny.” Mike cut across her. “I said it was no problem. You run with Blip and Evelyn and well, if there’s one thing I’ve learnt from them, it’s that we take care of our own.”

A soft smile blooms on her face. _We take care of our own_. She likes the sound of that. Too much, maybe. “So I’m one of yours now, huh?”

“You’re exhausting.” He laughs. “Goodnight, Baker.”

The urge to kiss him is back. Lean across the divide, press her lips against his. Say thank you for this, thank you for the good time, thank you for this – thank for you challenging me to get off the couch long enough to kick your ass.

But she doesn’t say any of that. She inserts her key into her door, and unlocking it, pushes the door half open. Before slipping inside, Ginny offers Mike a slightly sad half smile. “Night, Lawson.”


	3. Chapter 3

The good will discovered at the bar on Friday gets shot to shit within the next week. Ginny’s only slightly mad – on some level, deep down, she knew to expect this. But the larger, more in control part, the part that opened up to him while eating burgers after drinking far too much tequila, (something she rarely did, the tequila _and_ the opening up) is hurt. She thought they’d reached a sort of truce. A stalemate. Seems she was wrong.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me!” She growls, glancing up from her thesis paper as a moan sounds through her thin wall. “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him –“ She launches herself from her bed, not tripping over anything this time because she cleaned yesterday, before falling into the hallway.

“Ginny.”

She jumped, hands flying out for her baseball bat by the doorway, only to realize it was just Evelyn lurking in the doorway of her own bedroom. Looking appropriately ruffled from sleep, the other woman gazed steadily at Ginny.

“Evelyn, uh – did I wake you? Did Mike?” Her eyes narrowed and she shifted, glaring at the closed front door. “Cause I swear –“

A another pointed moan cut through the walls and for a moment – Ginny’s mighty impressed. It was one thing to have loud sex when his bedroom was right next to theirs but for the two of them to hear it in the living room? He was doing some of his best work.

(Ginny ignores the thought that she wants him to do his best work on her and not the red-head that was probably in his bed at that point.)

“No – uh.” Evelyn shook her head and nervously chewed on her bottom lip. It was as if she had something to say, but wasn’t quite sure how to say all of it.

“What?” Ginny’s eyes narrowed.

“Just.” She sighed and waved vaguely at the front door. “Leave him be.”

“What? Why?” Her gaze turned back to the door. “I thought we had you know, reached a sort of friendship and understanding about this whole loud sex through the walls, but seems Mr. Narcassict doesn’t agree –“

“People at work are talking about firing him.”

Ginny froze. She didn’t – she knew logically that Mike had a job, one that paid good money, but. She didn’t know _know_ he had a job. It was odd, she knew, but for the handful of weeks that Mike had been in her life, he’d been this annoyingly attractive and frustratingly persistent man; not someone who worked full time and ran the risk of getting fired. It seemed odd because Mike was this larger than life personality – and the idea that anyone would fire him didn’t make sense.

“What?” She shook her head. “I – I don’t even know where he works.”

_It didn’t come up when we went for burgers._

“He’s a sports journalist. And he’s _been_ at the paper for 16 years but.” Evelyn shrugged weakly. “They’re talking about firing him in favour of bringing in someone who can do the entire tech posting.”

“And Mike’s all about the old-school, right?” Her lips pursed.

“Yeah.”

“Christ.” She breathed, shoulders sagging.  “Now I feel bad.”

Evelyn snorted. “No, you don’t.”

Disappearing back into her room, Evelyn left Ginny alone in the living room, the sounds of Mike and his… lady friend, still faintly heard. The urge to bang on his door was still there, fluttering through her system – but the knowledge that he might get fired and was loosing himself in another person to cope with it all…

Ginny swallowed roughly. That she understood all too well. Hell, it was half the reason she even started seeing people anyway – it was distract herself or face a lot of her own issues, something she liked avoid. Turning on her heel, she headed for her bedroom, making sure to pick up her headphones along the way.

(It was the least she could do.)

* * *

“Hey.” Ginny half smiled the next morning, bright pink headphones hanging around her neck but this time without her usual coffee flask. (She blames Evelyn working two overnight shifts. The poor thing was working on overtime and had decided that it was, in fact, done for the week.)

Mike casually leant against his closed front door, one finger idly starching at his eyebrow. “Didn’t hear you come barging in on my activities this morning.”

“Nope.” Ginny popped the ‘p’.

He nodded slowly, a small smile quirking at the edge of his mouth. “Can I ask why?”

“Nope.” She grinned.

A soft laugh fell from his lips and Ginny couldn’t fight the pride that swelled through her - that was her goal after all. “That’s a thing with you isn’t it? Telling people no all the time?”

“Nah –“ She shrugged. “Just with you.”

His chin jerked at the messenger bag hanging off her shoulder. “You got class?”

“Yeah, but I gotta hit the library though beforehand.” Ginny snorted. “Since _someone_ convinced my ass to go out the other week I’ve been making double time on my thesis.”

“Can I walk you? We can stop and get coffee on the way.” It’s an olive branch, she thinks – probably even the closet she’ll get to an apology about the blonde he was fucking till 4AM and Ginny’s just that desperate for caffeine she’d probably give him a lap dance if that was what it took for a cup of coffee.

“…Sure.”

* * *

If there’s one thing Ginny Baker has learnt about Mike Lawson in the last few weeks? He seems to know all the low-key haunts that populate their little city – the best of the best that’s still under the radar, meaning you’re not forking over 5 bucks for Jamaican Blend.

“So how’s the thesis?” He peers over at her as they wait in line.

“Fine.” Ginny shrugged, eyeing the menu.

“Really, that’s all you got? One adjective?”

“Probably better if I didn’t have American Idiot stuck in my head for half the time I was working on it last night.” Ginny snorted, grinning over at Mike.

“You mean this morning.”

She laughed. “Shut up.”

“Your sleeping habits worry me, Baker.” A hand scrubbed over his mouth and he looked at her with some weird mix of pity, apprehension and possibly even awe.

“They shouldn’t, been like this for years now.”

He barked out a laugh. “That’s not reassuring.”

“Wasn’t meant to be.” She winked.

“Shut up and order.” Mike’s chin jerked at the till operator.

“Dirty,” Ginny simpered. “I never would have assumed that boy scout Mike Lawson’s got a thing for telling girls what to do…”

“You’re exhausting. Will you order your damn coffee already, Baker?”

Ginny laughed and turned to the till operator, ordering the largest possible size they had and just pure black coffee. She’d had her own sugar later. She turned back to Mike, mouth half open to quip something when she sees it –

– A bouncing red-head with an infectious grin, coming at them full speed.

“Mike!” The red-head grins, throwing herself at Mike, her arms looping around his neck. Mike doesn’t even blink, his arm coming to wrap around the red-head’s waist, keeping her close. (Ginny isn’t sure if that was his intention or just habit, really. She doesn’t care to analyse it either way.)

“Uh, Rachel, hi.” He startles, turning back to Ginny. “Um – this – this is Ginny.”

“Oh!” The red-head turns her grin towards the brunette. “Ginny Baker, right?”

“Yeah.”

“My sports history professor will not shut up about you. Says you’re like – women’s greatest gift to sports or something.”

“Right.” She said slowly. “I’m sorry – who are you?” Ginny questions, frowning as her gaze darts between Mike and the smiling red-head with her arms around his waist.

The red-head’s – or Rachel as Mike had called her – smile never falters. The only sign she’s even heard _any_ of what Ginny’s said is the slight twitch under her eye. “Rachel. Rachel Patrick. I’m Mike’s _girlfriend_.”

Ginny’s world bottoms out. “Oh.” She nods sharply.

God, she feels like an idiot. Here she was, flirting with someone, _heavily_ at that and he had a fucking **girlfriend**. Her mind’s eye flashes with memories of the bar that Friday night – of how she pressed herself against him, of how she imagined kissing him and not just once but twice. Of how she promised to make a dance worth his while and – (She’s reminded acutely of her mother and Kevin and she hates it. She hates that she almost did to Rachel when her mother did to her father and she wasn’t – wasn’t even aware.) Her thoughts are a jumbled, toxic mess of guilt and self-loathing, shocking her straight in the heart.

“That’s – great. Really.” If her voice comes out slightly choked, Ginny doesn’t dare comment on it. She glances away from the couple in front of her. “I uh, gotta go to class.”

“But what about coffee?” Mike frowns.

She shook her head, hand clenching around the strand of her messenger bag. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Baker, come on, you haven’t had any and I know how you get -“

“It’s fine.” Her head shook more forcefully. She had – had to get out of there, lest she do something stupid like get emotional or cry or make an even bigger fool of herself for developing a crush on a guy who’s obviously of the taken persuasion. “Sides, seems like you’ve got your hands full on the company front anyway.”

She flashes the two of them a barely there smile before turning on her heel and leaving the small coffee shop. Her phone chimes with a text from Trevor a mere second later and blindly, Ginny pulls the device from her jeans pocket.

_Look, it’s a long shot but – dinner tonight? x_

Ginny tries not to feel guilty when she says yes.

(She never notices the dark frown that Mike keeps trained on her as she leaves the coffee shop, never notices the flicker of sadness as she leaves him behind.)

* * *

“Where’s Ginny?” Mike questions, taking a glance around the loud bar. (He knew that things were going to be a little awkward after the abrupt meeting of her and Rachel, – not to mention the fact Rachel had called herself his _girlfriend_ , which was only true the **vaguest** sense of the word, but – he still thought she’d show up. All four of them always met up at the bar once the day had ended.)

Blip shrugged, taking a swing of his own beer. “Got a date tonight.”

“What?”

“Yup. Trevor Davis. He’s been asking her out for months and she finally said yes.” He snorted. “Which you know, _lil_ odd since she told me two weeks ago being around the guy was like watching beige paint dry, but you know.”

Mike clenched his jaw, swallowing against the onslaught of feelings burning a whole inside his chest. If Ginny had told Blip being with the fucker was like watching paint dry, then why, why was she going out with him? You know why, his mind whispered and Mike tipped his beer to his mouth, downing more of the ice cold liquid.

Blip frowned over at him. “You okay, man?”

“Fine."

* * *

 

“So I was surprised you said yes.” Trevor replies, leaning his elbows against the table. (They’re at some bar 8 blocks from her apartment, and really, Ginny’s just happy the fries are good and that the beer is cold. She’s not happy that the burger she ordered wasn’t nowhere near as good as the one she ate with Mike last week.)

“Why’s that?” She frowned.

Trevor snorted. “Because you’ve been turning me down all month?”

Ginny shrugged. “I’ve been busy with grad school and all of that.” – And she **had** been busy. When she wasn’t at the bar with Blip and Evelyn and by extension – _Mike_ – she was working her ass off and waiting with bated breath to hear back from Johns Hopkins about the fellowship.

“How’s that going?” He questions, taking a sip of his beer.

“Good, uh – lotsa papers to write on top of my thesis paper and they wanna start me as a TA soon which is good, you know, _money_ but…” Ginny trailed off. She knew that vacant look in his eyes, the pleasant smile on his face. She practically dealt in it, when it came to dates these days. But all it does is serve as a reminder as the last time she was in a diner, eating burgers and fries and onion rings – when she opened up, at least a little bit, to someone who wasn’t Evelyn; who didn’t hear her crying at 4 in the morning because the pressure of succeeding, of being the first in her family to go to college was just all too much.

(She had gone on this date to forget about him – forget about Mike-fucking-Lawson – and here she is, reminded of him at every fucking turn.)

“Right.” Trevor nods slowly.

Ginny takes a swig of her beer. “You wanna get out of here?”

* * *

 

The door slams open, loud enough that Ginny (and Mike, too, but she doesn’t know that part) feels it rattle in her bones. A breathless laugh breaks past her lips.

“Gonna break my door are you?” She grins, sliding her hands along the curve of Trevor’s jaw.

He startles, tearing his gaze from Ginny and glancing wildly at the door. “Shit – sorry,”

“Kidding, Trevor.” Ginny rolls her eyes, tilting her chin to press her lips against his own once again. They fumble their way her bedroom before she’s falling into her mattress, feeling heat set into her viens and lust pool in her belly.

Trevor’s fingers tug at the button on her jeans and that’s when she hears it – and look. Here’s the thing. Ginny wouldn’t even know the song if it wasn’t for her brother and his angst phase when they were growing up. That’s the only reason she recognises the opening notes of American Idiot by Green Day and not because she was waiting for it.

(Ginny Baker had a hot man in her bed. There was no reason to wait for  

She tries to ignore it at first. Throw herself into the slide of Trevor’s lips against her own, the way his hips knock against hers, shallowly thrusting. The way his hands smooth down her legs as he takes her jeans off. The way his fingertips press against the edge of her panties. (Tries not to think of Mike’s beard under her fingertips, tries not to think of the flex of his rough hand against her hip.)

(It doesn’t work.)

Just like ignoring the song isn’t going to work either. Pulling back from Trevor, Ginny huffs breath. “Just – gimme a sec?”

“Uh – Ginny,” Trevor replies back, confused and look; she gets it – but there’s just something she has to deal with first.

“Just – one sec.” She shakes off the foot of her jeans and rolls out from under Trevor, glaring as she heads for her front door.

What a sight Ginny Baker paints in that moment… hair mussed, lips utterly kissed, wild look in her eyes, wearing nothing put a pair of lace panties and white tank-top. But while banging on Mike Lawson’s door, she doesn’t give a thought to any of this, only indulging in the anger that’s setting her blood on fire.

The door flies open a moment later and Ginny takes a moment to bask in the surprise reflected in Mike’s hazel eyes. Ha – _serves him fucking right._

“What the flying fuck is your problem, Lawson?” She growled.

“Excuse me?”

“Look I get it was fun at first – interrupting your loud sex but Jesus! _We_ weren’t even that loud!” Her hands come up to lean against his doorframe, trapping Mike in.

(If Ginny was in a better state of mind then, she’d take note of the way Mike’s eyes travelled the length of her body, eyes roving over her miles of smooth, bare leg, roving over the barely there t-shirt, soft and well-worn from over use – so much so that Mike could see the subtle outline of her breasts and the darkened circles of her nipples.)

“Funny.” He scoffed. “Because I could hear you through my damn wall!”

“You didn’t seem to give a flying fuck about _what_ you heard when you were introducing me to your girlfriend this morning!”

“Rachel’s not my girlfriend.” Mike glares. (Or well, hasn’t been since 10:05 this morning when he broke up with her. He doesn’t exactly care to analyse why once glance at Ginny’s crumpled face as Rachel introduced herself had him doing such a thing that he’d put off for at least three weeks at this point, either.)

Ginny scoffed. “Coulda fooled me.” (She doesn’t have time to deal with men and their concepts of what was and wasn’t dating – in Ginny’s book you were either with someone or you weren’t, case closed.)

Something deep and dark and ugly rises in his chest and he’s powerless to stop it. “You want proof she’s not my girlfriend?”

Before Ginny can reply or before Mike can over think what he’s about to do, his hand reaches out, wrapping around the curve of her hip, pulling her close enough for his lips to press against her own. Ginny doesn’t even blink, merely throwing herself into the kiss. Her hands come up, tangling in his hair, yanking softly in warning as his teeth scrape the edge of her lips.

His tongue duels with hers and she whimpers, feeling his hands glide along her curves – all the more visible and accessible by the fact she’s wearing so _little_.

His hand roughly slides over the curve of her ass, pulling her impossibly closer and Ginny gasps against his mouth, her hands tightening in his hair. (She hates, hates how this one rough and tumble kiss and his hands on her ass does more for her than Trevor’s hands down her panties did.)

“Ginny,” Her name muttered against her lips is enough to snap her out of the haze she’s fallen into and Ginny pushed herself back from Mike, only for his lips to chase after hers – as if he wasn’t done kissing her, would never be done.

“I – um,” She shook her head, tongue darting out to lick her bottom lip. “I gotta go.”

“Ginny –“ Mike rushes to say, hand reaching out to pull her back into his orbit but Ginny just shakes her head, casting him a sad look. Her front door slams closed and for a long moment, Ginny leans heavily against her front door. Her fingertips come up, lightly touching, pressing against her kiss swollen lips, all while her mind replays that kiss in the hallway near moments before.

Trevor emerges in the doorway of her bedroom, a charming grin on his lips. “Finally. Was wondering what took you so long…”

Ginny stares at him, her breathing shallow. “You need to go.”

“I’m sorry?” Trevor frowns.

(Ginny tries to feel bad – but the memory of Mike’s hand on her ass, softly kneading the pliant flesh – burns through her like nothing else ever has and it’s – it’s just a lot to deal with. She can’t possibly be expected to forget that kiss happened and just go back to fucking Trevor: anything he could do would pale in comparison to her next door neighbour.)

“You need to go.”

His frown deepened. “Did I do something - ?”

“No, I just – now really isn’t a good time.” Ginny swallowed roughly. “I thought I could do this, could do actually dating someone, but. I can’t.” (It’s not a lie, but it’s not the truth either. Another thing she tries to feel bad about but seemingly can’t.)

“Okay.” He disappears for a moment, returns full clothed before he heads for her door and Ginny shuffles out of the way. “Uh, you ever change your mind… give me a call.”

(She won’t call.)

The urge to go over to Mike’s apartment is strong – she feels it all the way down to the tips of her toes with a staggering sort of force. Just one kiss from him, angry though it was, and she feels more turned on than she did with every fumbling movement with Trevor.

Her head slams against the door. “Fuck you, Mike Lawson. Fuck you.”


End file.
